The Tenth Weasley - CH - 74

The castle was silent. Not the usual hush of midnight or the peaceful quiet of exam preparation—but a heavy, stifling silence that draped over Hogwarts like a burial shroud. The air itself seemed brittle, as if one wrong breath might cause the ancient stones to crumble.

The message had been found just an hour ago, painted in blood-red letters across the corridor wall outside the Arithmancy classroom:

“Her bones will lie forever in the Chamber.”

Below the horrific writing lay a broken, twisted silver badge—one with the Slytherin serpent engraved at its center. It was unmistakably Tracy Davis’s.

Inside the Slytherin common room, the atmosphere was electric with fear, rage, and whispers. Nobody laughed. Nobody lounged. Students huddled together in small groups, casting furtive glances at the boy sitting alone in the far corner of the room.

Harry Weasley.

The firelight flickered against his sharp features as he stared into the flames, jaw clenched, knuckles white. No one spoke to him—not even Blaise, not even Daphne. He had already lost them.

"Why is he still here?" whispered Theodore Nott from across the room.

"He’s the Heir, isn't he?" hissed Millicent Bulstrode. "Tracy was the only one who ever talked to him lately. Everyone saw her follow him around like a dog."

"And now she’s gone," muttered someone else.

They didn’t try to hide their voices. They wanted him to hear.

A sudden knock at the common room door made several students jump.

Professor Snape entered, flanked by Headmistress McGonagall and two stern-faced Aurors.

“Harry Weasley,” Snape said coldly. “Come with us.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from the room. The whispers stopped. Everyone watched, eyes wide and satisfied, as Harry slowly stood up. He made no sound as he walked forward, only pausing beside the fire to grab the wand holstered at his hip.

“I’m innocent,” he said quietly, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“No one is accusing you, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said, her voice tired but sharp. “But we have questions that must be answered.”

“You mean everyone is accusing me,” Harry muttered.

Snape’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. The Aurors turned without a word and began leading Harry through the winding halls of Hogwarts. The students inside the common room stared long after the door closed behind him.

Inside the Headmaster’s Office—now temporarily under McGonagall’s control since Dumbledore’s suspension—Harry stood across from the fireplace. The Aurors stood to either side of the door, arms folded. McGonagall paced behind her desk, lips pressed into a thin line.

Snape remained beside the window, hands folded behind his back.

“Tracy Davis was last seen entering the corridor near the second-floor girls’ bathroom,” McGonagall began. “Witnesses said she was following you.”

“I didn’t go anywhere near Tracey” Harry said.

“There’s a painting near the stairwell that claims otherwise,” McGonagall snapped. “A portrait of Lady Igraine swears she saw you pass by moments before the attack.”

“Paintings gossip,” Harry shot back. “Half the portraits in this castle say I’m the next Dark Lord.”

“You have a history with the victim,” Snape said smoothly. “She was…fond of you.”

“I didn’t ask her to be.”

Snape’s expression didn’t change.

McGonagall took a deep breath. “Mr. Weasley… this is not about what people say. A student is missing. The message was unmistakably a threat. The entire school is in panic, and we’re under direct orders from the Ministry to act swiftly.”

“Then act,” Harry said sharply. “Send your Aurors into the Chamber. Find the monster. Prove it isn’t me.”

There was silence.

One of the Aurors, a tall man with a hawk-like face, stepped forward. “And if it is you?”

Harry stared him in the eye. “Then you’ll be the first to know.”

McGonagall sighed. “We’re not arresting you. Yet. But you are not to leave the dungeons unless escorted. You are under surveillance. And if anything happens again—”

“I get it,” Harry said.

They dismissed him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

As he left, Harry clenched his fists in his robes. His breath came faster. His mind spun with fear and fury. He didn’t care what they thought anymore.

He was going to find it before it claimed another victim.


Gilderoy Lockhart stood in front of the full-length mirror in his private quarters, running a perfectly combed hand through his shimmering blond curls. His expression was unusually pale as the loud knocks from outside his chamber echoed against the stone walls.

“Coming!” he called out in a falsely cheerful tone, though his heart was thumping like a trapped bludger.

The door opened, and Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, and Snape entered, their expressions severe and expectant. McGonagall wasted no time.

“Professor Lockhart,” she said sharply, “as you have so often reminded us of your many accomplishments in banishing dark creatures and solving magical crises, we now call upon your expertise. A student has been taken by the monster. The Heir of Slytherin has struck again.”

Snape’s voice was laced with venom. “Surely someone of your... exceptional talents will have no problem entering the Chamber and rescuing Miss Davis.”

Flitwick gave a small, stiff nod. “The headmaster is gone. The staff are stretched thin. You’re the Defense professor. This is your moment.”

Gilderoy tried to swallow but his throat was bone dry. “Yes, of course... Quite... quite right. Absolutely! I, uh... I’ve just been preparing, you see. Gathering the necessary... items.”

McGonagall narrowed her eyes. “You have until sunset, Lockhart. We will gather in the staffroom. Be ready.”

The door closed behind them with a heavy thud.

As soon as their footsteps disappeared down the corridor, Lockhart’s mask of composure crumbled. “Sunset! Merlin’s beard, I can’t face the monster! I don’t even know what it is!”

He stumbled to his wardrobe and threw it open, yanking out a weathered leather suitcase. In went his finest robes, a stack of signed copies of Magical Me, several jars of hair cream, and his emergency wand-polishing kit. He fumbled at the mantle, drawing out a handful of Floo Powder from a small pouch and tossed it into the fireplace.

“Hogsmeade Inn!” he hissed.

Green flames roared in the hearth. Just as he stepped toward the fire, the door creaked.

Harry Weasley had been walking the corridor when he spotted Lockhart moving frantically. He pushed the door open. “Professor?”

Lockhart froze. “Mr. Weasley! Ah... you startled me.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Going somewhere?”

Lockhart laughed nervously. “Oh, just... er... popping out for a, uh, quick consultation with a magical creature expert I know in Hogsmeade. Very hush-hush.”

Harry stared him down. “You’re running away.”

Lockhart dropped the act. “Look, you don’t understand! I never meant for any of this to happen. My books—most of them were just... borrowed stories. I’m no match for the Slytherin's monster. I’d be killed before I could flick my wand!”

“Then you shouldn’t have died,” Harry said coldly. “There’s a girl missing. And if we don’t stop that thing soon, more will follow.”

Lockhart stepped into the flames. “I never asked for this job. I only wanted to be admired... famous. I’m not a hero.”

The flames rose high, swallowing his form.

And then, just like that, Gilderoy Lockhart was gone.

When the staff discovered he had fled, Snape slammed his fist against the wall and said, “Coward.” No one argued.

Harry turned and walked away. It was clear now—no help was coming. If Tracy Davis was to be saved, someone else would have to rescue her. Someone who wasn’t afraid.


The castle was deathly quiet as Harry crept through the corridors beneath the cover of his invisibility cloak. His breath came slow and measured, heart thudding not from fear, but from the urgency pressing in on all sides. He moved silently, his footsteps softened by the worn stone floor, a large enchanted cage floating beside him under a levitation charm—inside, several confused and agitated roosters clucked nervously.

He passed a pair of suits of armor near the Charms corridor. They gave an ominous clank as he went by, as though even they sensed something unnatural brewing within Hogwarts.

Earlier that evening, Harry had returned from Hogsmeade through the fireplace in Professor Lockhart’s quarters. The same fireplace the fraud had used to flee the castle like a coward, leaving behind nothing but polished hairpins and half-written books about victories he never won. Harry had found the Floo network still active, and he had seized the opportunity to acquire what he needed.

Real roosters.

Rooster crows were fatal to Basilisks. It was one of the few weaknesses the great serpents had. Conjuring wouldn’t work—the magic was too artificial. The rooster’s cry had to come from living lungs, from flesh and blood. And Harry had no intention of heading into that chamber without every weapon he could carry.

He arrived at the second-floor girl's bathroom. The moment he stepped inside, the strong scent of mildew and rusting pipes hit his nose. Moonlight filtered in from the high windows, cutting long beams across the cracked floor. Myrtle’s ghost floated above a stall, humming something eerie.

“You again,” she said in a whisper. “What is it this time? Another potion project? Come to cry in the sinks, maybe?”

Harry lowered the hood of his cloak. “Not today, Myrtle,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “I need your help.”

Myrtle blinked at him. “My help?”

Harry approached the sink. “This is where you died, isn’t it?”

The ghost drifted closer, suddenly solemn. “Yes. I was crying in that stall when I heard someone… a boy. I told him to go away. Then I heard something... something speaking, hissing. And then—” she gave a dramatic shiver, “—I saw those awful yellow eyes... and I died.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Thank you for sharing it with me”

He turned to the sink—the very one Myrtle had mentioned—and whispered, “Open.” In Parseltongue.

With a grinding groan, the porcelain fixture sank and twisted away, revealing a dark, gaping tunnel that descended into the black unknown.

Harry turned back to the floating cage of roosters, adjusting the levitation spell so they would descend gently with him. Then he stepped onto the lip of the tunnel, took a breath, and let himself slide down into the darkness.


The tunnel walls felt like they were closing in the farther Harry crept, wand gripped tightly in his hand, steps echoing against the stone. The air grew colder, damper, and each footstep sent tiny bones crunching beneath his shoes. The further he walked, the more signs he saw—skeletal remains of rats, shredded robes, cracked bones. And then he saw it.

A snake’s skin.

But not just any snake’s. The discarded sheddings stretched more than fifty feet long, glimmering with a sickly iridescence even in the dim light of Harry’s wand.

“This… this thing is massive,” he whispered to himself, stepping cautiously around it. He glanced at the cages at the far end of the chamber, where he placed the rooster's cage.

Whoever built this place had planned everything.

He turned, about to head deeper, when a distant scream echoed down the tunnel. Harry jerked back, wand raised.

“Lumos Maxima!” he shouted, flooding the corridor with light.

Out of the shadows, three figures stumbled through the tunnel entrance, gasping for breath.

“What—?” Harry began, heart racing.

“Harry!” Charlie’s voice rang out. “You weren’t seriously thinking of doing this alone, were you?”

Behind him, Ron and Neville were already panting heavily, each with wands at the ready.

Harry blinked, stunned. “What are you doing here?! Are you insane?”

Charlie grinned. “Probably. But we owe you a life debt, remember? Forbidden Forest? Spiders?”

Ron nodded firmly. “You saved our lives, brother. We’re not letting you do this alone.”

Neville added, “Besides, Hermione would never forgive us if we didn’t try.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, baffled. “But how did you even know I was here?”

Charlie held up a worn, folded piece of parchment. “This. The Marauder’s Map. Created by dad and his friends when they were students here. It shows everyone in Hogwarts—every secret passage, every room. We’ve been keeping an eye on you ever since Tracy disappeared.”

Harry raised a brow. “You’ve been stalking me?”

“Monitoring,” Neville corrected sheepishly. “Big difference.”

Harry laughed dryly. “You’re all mental.”

Then he stepped aside and pointed toward the massive serpent skin coiled nearby.

Ron’s jaw dropped. “Bloody hell…”

“It shed that?” Neville whispered, eyes wide in horror.

“It’s more than fifty feet long,” Harry said grimly. “That’s what we’re facing. A Basilisk.”

They stared in silence at the tunnel stretching ahead. Farther down, past the ancient runes carved into the walls, the lair of Slytherin’s monster awaited them.

Harry turned toward them. “You sure about this? You come with me now, and there’s no turning back. One wrong move and that thing’ll kill us all.”

Charlie stepped forward. “We’ve come this far. Lead the way, Parselmouth.”

Harry hesitated, then gave a curt nod. “Alright then. Let’s go end this.”

And together, the four boys advanced down the tunnel, toward the mouth of the Chamber of Secrets.